Usually i do not like to blog videos as they detract me from writing weird stuff, but once in a while one comes across music which raises the spirit into a free flight. This one is not only a audible but a visual delight too.
I am certain that after watching this video you are going to get a pirated version or a free download of this (thus hurting coca cola revenues maybe) but coke has given us enough burps so they wont even notice.
More about the singers and the concept once i am through with the videos. I know you hot dudes are dying to know more about the beautiful babe in the video. Well she is the daughter of a Pakistani actress and a top model in Pakistan besides being an excellent singer. So to help your hormones a bit here are a couple of more videos of Messha Shafi
And here is the cokestudio video of Chori Chori by Messha Shafi. A must watch not only for the beautiful Meesha Shafi (you you you lustful dudes) but for her beautiful voice.
More about this later. I got to watch some of this again. If anyone knows free download links please post them in response. Lotta pirates will be grateful to you.
Meantime have fun.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Music never fails to raise the spirit
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Just Statistics for Fun
Doctors vs. Gun Owners
Doctors
(A) The number of physicians in the U.S. is 700,000.
(B) Accidental deaths caused by Physicians per year are 120,000.
(C) Accidental deaths per physician is 0.171.
Statistics courtesy of U.S. Dept of Health and Human Services.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Now think about this:
Guns
(A) The number of gun owners in the U.S. is 80,000,000.(Yes, that's 80 million)
(B) The number of accidental gun deaths per year, all age groups, is 1,500.
(C) The number of accidental deaths per gun owner is .000188.
Statistics courtesy of FBI
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
So, statistically, doctors are approximately 9,000 times more dangerous than gun owners.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Remember, 'Guns don't kill people, doctors do.'
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
FACT: NOT EVERYONE HAS A GUN,
BUT
Almost everyone has at least one doctor.
This means you are over 900 times more likely to be killed by a doctor as a gun owner!!!
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Please alert your friends to this alarming threat.
We must ban doctors before this gets completely out of hand!!!!!
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Out of concern for the public at large, I withheld the statistics on lawyers
for fear the shock would cause people to panic and seek medical attention!
Friday, July 16, 2010
Send oldies to the war
After all those heart warming stories here is one practical humrous one from an old gentleman with lots of common sense and practical reasoning. I am all for it. Let the oldies gas the terrorists.
I am over 60 and the Armed Forces thinks I'm too old to track down terrorists. You can't be older than 42 to join the military. They've got the whole thing ass-backwards. Instead of sending 18-year olds off to fight, they ought to take us old guys. You shouldn't be able to join a military unit until you're at least 35.
For starters, researchers say 18-year-olds think about sex every 10 seconds (I thought it was once every micro second). Old guys only think about sex a couple of times a day, leaving us more than 28,000 additional seconds per day to concentrate on the enemy.
Young guys haven't lived long enough to be cranky, and a cranky soldier is a dangerous soldier. 'My back hurts! I can't sleep, I'm tired and hungry.' ...bang! bang! bang!...we are impatient and maybe letting us kill some dirtbag who desperately deserves it will make us feel better and shut us up for awhile.
An 18-year-old doesn't even like to get up before 10am. Old guys always get up early to pee, so what the hell. Besides, like I said, I'm tired and can't sleep and since I'm already up and cranky, I may as well be up killing some fanatical son-of-a-gun.
If captured we couldn't spill the beans because we'd forget where we put them. In fact, name, rank, and serial number would be a real brainteaser. We will also be a liability because of the medicines the enemy would need to supply just to keep us alive in captivity.
Boot camp would be easier for old guys.. We're used to getting screamed and yelled at and we're used to soft food. We've also developed an appreciation for guns. We've been using them for years as an excuse to get out of the house, away from the screaming and yelling of wife n kids.
They could lighten up on the obstacle course however... When have you ever seen an enemy dangle a rope over a 20-foot wall for you to climb, or who does push ups after chasing and shooting the enemy!!!. Actually, the running part is kind of a waste of energy, too... I've never seen anyone outrun a bullet.
An 18-year-old has the whole world ahead of him. He's still learning to shave, to start a conversation with a pretty girl. He still hasn't figured out that a baseball cap has a brim to shade his eyes, not the back of his head.
These are all great reasons to keep our kids at home to learn a little more about life before sending them off into harm's way.
Let us old guys track down those dirty rotten coward terrorists. The last thing an enemy would want to see is a couple million pissed off old farts with attitudes and automatic weapons, who know that their best years are already behind them. We could also gas the enemy with eco friendly gases (ever heard of a fart)
HEY!! How about recruiting Women over 50...in menopause!!! You think OLD MEN have attitudes??
Ohhhhhhhhhhhh my God!!! If nothing else, put them on border patrol. They'll have it secured the first night!
Send this LINK to all of your senior friends...it's in big type so they can read it.
I am over 60 and the Armed Forces thinks I'm too old to track down terrorists. You can't be older than 42 to join the military. They've got the whole thing ass-backwards. Instead of sending 18-year olds off to fight, they ought to take us old guys. You shouldn't be able to join a military unit until you're at least 35.
For starters, researchers say 18-year-olds think about sex every 10 seconds (I thought it was once every micro second). Old guys only think about sex a couple of times a day, leaving us more than 28,000 additional seconds per day to concentrate on the enemy.
Young guys haven't lived long enough to be cranky, and a cranky soldier is a dangerous soldier. 'My back hurts! I can't sleep, I'm tired and hungry.' ...bang! bang! bang!...we are impatient and maybe letting us kill some dirtbag who desperately deserves it will make us feel better and shut us up for awhile.
An 18-year-old doesn't even like to get up before 10am. Old guys always get up early to pee, so what the hell. Besides, like I said, I'm tired and can't sleep and since I'm already up and cranky, I may as well be up killing some fanatical son-of-a-gun.
If captured we couldn't spill the beans because we'd forget where we put them. In fact, name, rank, and serial number would be a real brainteaser. We will also be a liability because of the medicines the enemy would need to supply just to keep us alive in captivity.
Boot camp would be easier for old guys.. We're used to getting screamed and yelled at and we're used to soft food. We've also developed an appreciation for guns. We've been using them for years as an excuse to get out of the house, away from the screaming and yelling of wife n kids.
They could lighten up on the obstacle course however... When have you ever seen an enemy dangle a rope over a 20-foot wall for you to climb, or who does push ups after chasing and shooting the enemy!!!. Actually, the running part is kind of a waste of energy, too... I've never seen anyone outrun a bullet.
An 18-year-old has the whole world ahead of him. He's still learning to shave, to start a conversation with a pretty girl. He still hasn't figured out that a baseball cap has a brim to shade his eyes, not the back of his head.
These are all great reasons to keep our kids at home to learn a little more about life before sending them off into harm's way.
Let us old guys track down those dirty rotten coward terrorists. The last thing an enemy would want to see is a couple million pissed off old farts with attitudes and automatic weapons, who know that their best years are already behind them. We could also gas the enemy with eco friendly gases (ever heard of a fart)
HEY!! How about recruiting Women over 50...in menopause!!! You think OLD MEN have attitudes??
Ohhhhhhhhhhhh my God!!! If nothing else, put them on border patrol. They'll have it secured the first night!
Send this LINK to all of your senior friends...it's in big type so they can read it.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Tell me who you love and I will tell you who you are !
In between all the nude or semi nude pictures and hot mms links that I post I do like to post these heart warming stories once in a while, because, believe me or not someday, if you live long enough, your horniness will dwindle and fade away and you will truly search for the meaning of your existence and true happiness. These random stories might help a bit in your search.
John stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose.
His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Judith May.
With time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail.
Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. John requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York.
"You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen. I'll let John tell you what happened next:
A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blond hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive.
I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Judith May.
She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes.
The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own.
And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful.
I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment. "I'm Lieutenant John, and you must be Miss Judith May. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?"
The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!" It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Judith May wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.
"Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you who you are..."
John stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose.
His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Judith May.
With time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail.
Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. John requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York.
"You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen. I'll let John tell you what happened next:
A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blond hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive.
I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Judith May.
She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes.
The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own.
And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful.
I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment. "I'm Lieutenant John, and you must be Miss Judith May. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?"
The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!" It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Judith May wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.
"Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you who you are..."
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